Acrophobia
by Bryan Greenberg
Summary: You’ve screamed and shouted, thrown tantrums and all of his possessions. But you haven’t let yourself cry. Lindsay introspection piece. Written for the Buildafic challenge at LJ.


Title: Acrophobia  
Author: Catkirk7 (LJ)/shotswithMrsKim (FF)  
Word Count: 718

1.) Character/Pairing: Lindsay  
2.) Rating: PG-13  
3.) Time Period: Season 5ish  
4.) Ickle Word: Sparkleability

5.) Quote: "Life is not determined by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of moments that take your breath away."  
6.) Happening/Event: Changing a light bulb.

Thanks to Kara and Cami for the beta.

You cried today. It's been months since you threw him out, months since you found the letter; but it's the first time you've cried. You've screamed and shouted, thrown tantrums and all of his possessions. But you haven't let yourself cry.

When you first found the letter you were too angry to cry. You wouldn't let him see that. Your pain didn't belong to him anymore. He didn't want it anyway. He never really had. That's what angered you the most. He never tried, never cared enough. While you were making pot roast after pot roast, praying that this time you would get it right, he was fucking _her_, telling her his marriage was over. You must have missed the memo.

"I hate you, Dean!" you screamed at him. But you didn't cry. Besides, you hated yourself more.

You stood, shrinking into yourself, while your mother tore into her in the middle of the street. You stared at her face while her mother fought yours. You noticed she was shrinking too. You could see the tears building up behind her eyes, so you fought your own. You would be stronger than her; you _needed_ to be.

It was hard to reconcile that girl with the one who slept with your husband, and even harder to reconcile her with the one who told an anecdote about you and a Mark Twain magnet head. You studied her, blocking out your mother and hers. You thought if you found the connection between the three girls you could hate her like you're supposed to.

It shouldn't have surprised you when you first heard them blame you. The town. They've always loved her best. She's the princess, the little Lorelai. She volunteers at all the town events, and everyone knows her. She has that Rory Gilmore sparkleability that you could never hope to duplicate. She couldn't run through the interminable stop light, let alone run through your marriage, shattering it to pieces. It couldn't have been her fault.

"Lindsay made Dean drop out of college," you heard Gypsy whisper to Bootsy. "She wasn't mature enough to be a wife."

"What did she expect?" Patty asked anyone who would listen, not caring that you're close enough to hear every word. "Dean's always loved Rory. And they hadn't even been dating a year before the engagement."

None of the words should have surprised you, but they did. Just not enough to make you cry.

When you heard about their break-up you weren't sure if you should laugh or cry. You settled for a short, strangled laugh and a shake of your head. It was inevitable really. She would never love him enough. She thought she wanted him, but she really only wanted no one else to have him. She wanted the option to fall back on her safety net--the man who would always want her, always worship her.

Your mother got you a daily calendar for Christmas. _Inspirational Quote of the Day_. You refrained from rolling your eyes, because you knew she was trying to make you feel better. Your chest hurt when you tore away January 3rd and read the 4th.

"Life is not determined by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of moments that take your breath away."

You remembered breathing just fine as you walked down the aisle on your wedding day as your groom scanned the room, looking for another woman. You wondered how many times Rory Gilmore had been left breathless.

You wished you could hate her. You wished you had a room of dartboards with her picture plastered on bulls-eyes, each one full of holes. But you couldn't. Because you were like the townspeople. You couldn't blame her. She was Rory Gilmore, and you couldn't bring yourself to believe that she wanted to hurt you. You could only blame yourself. You should never have married him.

You hated yourself because you still hurt. Because you were pathetic. Because you seriously considered taking him back when he begged for forgiveness a week after they broke up. Mostly, you hated yourself because it had been eight months and all you could do was curl up on the floor and cry because you were afraid of ladders and the damn light bulb was just out of reach.


End file.
